THE GRASSHOPPER ANACREON HAPPY insect, what can be And thy verdant cup does fill; Thou dost drink and dance and sing, Thee country hinds with gladness hear, Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire; To thee, of all things upon earth, Dost neither age nor winter know; But when thou'st drunk and danced and sung Epicure'an, fond of pleasure. rus was a Greek philosophe taught that pleasure was the g good which men could seek. ANACREON was a famous Greek poet who lived from 563 to 47 This poem was translated by ABRAHAM COWLEY (1618-1667 English writer of graceful verse. THE bird is little more than a drift of the air bro into form by plumes. The air is in all its quills; it bre through its whole frame and flesh, and glows with a its flying, like a blown flame; it rests upon the air, sul it, surpasses it, outraces it is the air, conscious of conquering itself, ruling itself. Also into the throat of the bird is given the voice o air. All that in the wind itself is weak, wild, usele sweetness, is knit together in song. As we may im the wild form of the cloud closed into the perfect for the bird's wings, so the wild voice of the cloud in ordered and commanded voice: unwearied, rip through the clear heaven in its gladness, interpretin intense passion through the soft spring nights, bu into acclaim and rapture of choir at daybreak, or li and twittering among the boughs and hedges through easure. Epicu hilosopher who was the greatest d seek. 63 to 478 B.C. 18-1667), an ir brought it breathes with air in r, subdues s of itself ›ice of the useless in y imagine t form of d into its rippling reting all bursting or lisping ugh heat of day, like little winds that only make the cowslip bells shake, and ruffle the petals of the wild rose. Also upon the plumes of the bird are put the colors of the air. On these the gold of the cloud, that cannot be gathered by any covetousness, the rubies of the clouds, the vermilion of the cloud-bar, and the flame of the cloudcrest, and the snow of the cloud, and its shadow, and the melted blue of the deep wells of the sky,—all these, seized by the creating spirit, and woven into films and threads of plume; with wave on wave following and fading along breast, and throat, and opened wings, infinite as the dividing of the foam and the sifting of the sea-sand; the white down of the cloud seeming to flutter up between the stronger plumes, seen, but too soft for touch. IN PRAISE OF SINGING BIRDS IZAAK WALTON even Ar first the lark, when she means to rejoice, to cheer herself and those that hear her, quits the earth, and sings as she ascends higher into the air; and having ended her heavenly employment, grows then mute and sad, to think she must descend to the dull earth, which she would not touch but for necessity. How do the blackbird and throssel (song-thrush), with their melodious voices, bid welcome to the cheerful spring, and in their fixed mouths warble forth such ditties as no art or instrument can reach to! Nay, the smaller birds also do the like in their particular seasons, as, namely, the laverock (skylark), the titlark, the little linnet, and the honest robin, that loves mankind. But the nightingale, another of my airy creatures, breathes such sweet loud music, that it might make m kind to think miracles are not ceased. He that at midnig when the very laborer sleeps securely, should hear, as I ha very often, the clear airs, the natural rising and falling, doubling and redoubling of her voice, might well be lif above earth, and say, "Lord, what music hast thou p vided for the saints in heaven, when thou affordest b men such music on earth!" IZAAK WALTON (1593-1683) was a noted English author, whose m famous book was "The Complete Angler." METHINKS I see one solitary, adventurous vessel, t Mayflower, of a forlorn hope, freighted with the prospe of a future state, and bound across the unknown sea. behold it pursuing, with a thousand misgivings, the unc tain, the tedious voyage. Suns rise and set, weeks a months pass, and winter surprises them on the deep, 1 brings them not the sight of the wished-for shore. I them now, scantily supplied with provisions, crowded alm to suffocation, in their ill-stored prison, delayed by calr pursuing a circuitous route, and now, driven in fi before the raging tempest, on the high and giddy wav e man idnight, ing, the ou pro- ose most el, the >spects sea. I unceris and P, but I see almost calms, ■ fury vaves. gging. ; the as it :ir all a five months' passage, on the ice-clad rocks of Plymouth, Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any Was it the winter's storm, beating upon the houseless heads of women and children? was it hard labor and spare meals? was it disease? was it the tomahawk? was it the deep malady of a blighted hope, a ruined enterprise, and a broken heart, aching in its last moments at the recollection of the loved and left, beyond the sea? was it some, or all of these united, that hurried this forsaken company to their melancholy fate? And is it possible, that neither of these causes, that not all combined, were able to blast this bud of hope? Is it possible, that, from a beginning so feeble, so frail, so worthy not so much of admiration as of pity, there has gone forth a progress so steady, a growth so wonderful, an expansion so ample, a reality so important, a promise yet to be fulfilled, so glorious? EDWARD EVERETT (1794-1865) was a distinguished American orator and statesman. He filled at various times the positions of President of Harvard College, Minister to England, and Secretary of State. |